


It Happens on a Tuesday

by FroldGapp



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt, M/M, Pre-Kerberos Mission, SHEITH - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 12:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12935742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FroldGapp/pseuds/FroldGapp
Summary: A regular day, breakfast barely finished when news of the failed Kerberos mission reaches the garrison.





	It Happens on a Tuesday

It happens on a Tuesday.

Desks in rows, backs of heads, sprinklers fizzing on the lawn outside the window.

His instructor speaks in a slow drawl. Her words are the humming of cicadas. He is listening and not listening. He is, by sleepy degrees, distracted by the students outside tumbling over each other to crowd over the shoulder of one girl and stare at her phone. Hands go to mouths. Somebody screams.

The classroom door bangs open and Keith tears a hole in his notepad with his pencil. He’s always preferred to work analogue.

‘Sir!’ A student he doesn’t recognise. ‘A communication from command. Please turn on your monitors.’

She does so.

And there is Shiro’s picture. In the picture, he is smiling.

**Kerberos mission failure. Crew missing presumed dead. Pilot error blamed.**

Keith opens his mouth and empties his breakfast all over his desk.

OoO

‘Son,’ says Iverson. He taps Keith’s knee with two thick fingers. Keith shifts until he’s out of reach.

Iverson grumbles and gestures to his assistant who pours a glass of water and offers it to Keith. It’s refused.

Iverson clears his throat. ‘You have to understand, Keith. In this line of work… It happens.’

‘Not to Shiro.’

A sympathetic press of the lips. ‘Even to Shiro. We’re all fallible, every one of us.’

‘No,’ Keith says, and stands. He moves towards the door on legs made of soot.

‘Cadet.’

Someone takes him by the shoulder; the assistant. He brushes them off. They touch him again, and he ducks from beneath their fingers. Once more, and he shoves hard enough to send them to their ass. They pull down a shelf on top of themselves.

‘Cadet!’ Iverson’s feet are heavy on the carpet behind Keith. The office, the shelves, the sprawling plants and framed honours fade to black around him, but he knows precisely where the man is. He breathes and turns, striking him with enough force to pop his nose.

He thinks he says something. He’s not sure. Iverson screams, ‘You punk. You ratty little shit. My nose!’

‘Not Shiro,’ Keith mumbles. The again, spit flying. ‘Not Shiro!’ Shiro’s name is like a tic, a well in his throat that won’t run dry.

He’s in the corridor, tripping down steps, stumbling through doors. More hands, more reaching fingers. He pushes and pushes and pushes.

Finally, he spills through the garrison main entrance. He’s blinded by the scorching midday sun and skids to a halt. Only midday. What a hellish morning. He turns one way then the other. The gravel under his too-small boots makes a sound like grinding teeth.

Students have gathered at the door behind him; hungry, curious, _vindicated_. ‘Starchild’s finally cracked,’ someone says. MPs will follow.

Keith spits; starts walking. He doesn’t stop until the stars come out. He looks towards Sagittarius, towards Shiro’s obliterated self, but the moon is full and he can see nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Get at me: http://froldgap.tumblr.com


End file.
